Luyện nghe bài hát Color My World Mine

I once met a man who himself not to dream
What he seems to have seen was a of everything
He's been painting pictures on since age thirteen
And he only exists in the mind of a higher being
And I enjoy his mostly scenic landscapes
But each one is focused on an easel where the man himself painting himself
And all that's in his visual
He said this was the only way he could make himself
Ever he could remember, he had one nightmare reoccur
But until about ten years ago, it matter
It consisted of loud, distorted sounds echoing off the
He ran on top of it in attempt to a ladder
Now sometimes, he'd get so close but never touch his
Which caused him much frustration 'cause he didn't know it meant
And by the end of the dream, he saw the scene a bird's eye
Only to witness his dead laying on the cement

It was to witness his dead body laying on the cement
At first it freaked him out, but after a while he grew
So he thought, "It's just a dream," and living his life
Writing his soul on the canvas 'cause it sheds his planet
And it on and on like space and time, ain't nothing odd
It's not he didn't believe, he just didn't approve of God
His experience was one I couldn't
'Till I stopped being detective and listened to him as a
He

He once saw a that told his whole life story
It was then he knew he was the art of divinity
He once saw a painting that his whole life story
A brush stroke of the gods him one note in their symphony
He once saw a painting told his whole life story
He spoke for himself and not the rest of
He saw a painting that told his whole life story
And I that I'm not real
God imagined me

like I said
About ten years ago, the event that changed his whole
Took on his monthly trip to the local art gallery
It was where he studied his contemporaries
And there where he carried his sanity to a hole and buried it forever
It was a very day
The place was almost
And he got down his spine just being present in the scene
On the wall, there was a picture looked familiar
And he got close, his heart stopped
cause he saw it was a of his dream
It was a painting of his
His body on a
By a ladder to an with its propellers spinning
Which accounted for the loud
The up was perfect
And that was the day he stopped believing in
He his creator
I mean, can't explain
must have went on in his brain while he stared into a frame
Of a of art which he created and was at the same time
The mind can't handle that much, it's just
It's like reading a book where each describe your thoughts
And in quotations, it reads whatever you say you talk
You think it happen
But it did
I guess there's surprisingly wide cracks in each life's
He stumbled upon an answer when he had a question
And decided to stop dreaming to his mental health
Now he hardly to people
Just in his basement
Writing infinity, by himself
Painting
is a strange universe
Is it all just a
In the real universe, is my useless?
Are we really a higher intelligence made up?
A figment of colored by a cosmic paintbrush?
Maybe all of our art creates the fate of beings
Then every character in ever novel thinks it's alive and were just
blindly
Just a
I don't what it means
But the story of the man who trained himself not to dream

He saw a paining that told his whole life story
He witnessed the of the word "existing"
He once saw a painting that told his whole life
He colored his world theirs, and concluded he wasn't
He once saw a painting that told his whole life
The variable that all that is is art
And when I close my eyes, I see as a story
A God imagined the God that me
And I am God
And so on